


just one night

by Ralph_E_Silvering



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Poor Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralph_E_Silvering/pseuds/Ralph_E_Silvering
Summary: What if Anakin could make Obi-Wan forget his principles and doubts for just one night?





	just one night

**Author's Note:**

> Flashback that takes place in “The Far Dark Shore.” Chronologically, in the Star Wars Universe, this takes place during the Clone Wars, right after the Rako Hardeen incident.

_J'ai, j'ai gardé en secret_

_Dans une boîte en argent_

_Un petit monde à moi_

_Des étoiles, un océan_

 

0o0o0

 

Anakin stalked through the halls of the Jedi Temple, hardly noticing as Padawans and Younglings and even some of the other Jedi Knights moved quickly out of his way. Anger and even a sense of betrayal filled him, and he didn’t know what to do with his feelings. He’d tried to discuss it with Padmé, he’d tried to drink the problem away, and now he was here.

The Jedi Temple was usually a haven of peace to Anakin. For years, before he’d married his wife, he had thought of the elegant, imposing building as home. There were times, even now, when he would wake besides Padmé and feel disoriented, staring out at the skyline of the Senate Apartment Complex, the overly rich and ostentatious surroundings of the penthouse, the quiet breathing of his beautiful wife, all strange to someone expecting to find himself high above the clouds in the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan’s soft snores coming from across the room as Coruscant’s rising sun turned his Master’s copper hair to burnished gold and highlighted every freckle on his pale skin.

He had thought of Obi-Wan as home, as his safe haven in the storm, until he married Padmé. A man belonged with his wife, this much Anakin knew. And he loved Padmé, he did. She was his everything, his very life. He was convinced that he would die without her. Her presence soothed him, made him feel that there were perfect things in this galaxy despite all the ugliness. For years he had dreamed of her, yet he had only been able to talk of her with Chancellor Palpatine, for he knew that the Jedi frowned on attachment.

And he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Obi-Wan.

His Master was such a perfect Jedi, so stoic and bound by duty and patient with all of Anakin’s mistakes and emotional outbursts, that Anakin hadn’t wanted to bring up Padmé as much as his heart wanted him to. And so he had hidden his attachment from his Master, and spoken of Padmé with him only a few times since the Chancellor requested Anakin’s regular presence when he’d turned thirteen. Palpatine was a good listener and he never told Anakin that his feelings were wrong.

In fact, Chancellor Palpatine often told him that his emotions were what made him more special than any Jedi. He hadn’t believed it at first, admiring his Master’s temperance and control in all things. But the more time he spent with Padmé, the more this war dragged on without the Jedi doing what was necessary to end it, the more he felt that the Chancellor was right. He was truly a wise and great man, and his leadership was necessary for the Republic.

The Jedi would never do what needed to be done, but the Chancellor would. And Anakin would help him in whatever way he could.

But thoughts of the Chancellor brought him straight back to Obi-Wan. Anakin blinked and found that he had stopped walking, standing before one of the floor-length windows that lined this hallway of the Jedi Temple and that he was scowling blackly out over a Coruscant wreathed in red-gold light, as the single sun sank beneath the horizon. This high up, the stars were already visible, tiny sparks of light in a purple velvet sky.

“Master Skywalker?” A quiet voice asked, and a gentle hand was placed on Anakin’s sleeve. 

He turned. Barriss Offee, Ahsoka’s friend, stood next to him, her wide blue eyes filled with a soft concern. There was something about her that reminded him of Padmé. A certain delicacy, he thought. Sometimes, he thought that a harsh word towards her would make Barriss cry. He shook that thought off as unkind. There were many different types of strength, Obi-Wan would tell him.

“Yes, Padawan Offee?” he said. He was still unsure of his emotions, feeling lost at sea, and he sought refuge in formality. It was something he had seen Obi-Wan do since he was young.

Barriss took her hand from his sleeve and placed it demurely back at her side. “Are you looking for Master Kenobi?” Her eyes dropped towards the ground – he had noticed that she had trouble meeting others’ gazes – and so he could no longer read the expression in them to glean what she felt. Anakin knew that he was too needy, too impulsive, too _emotional_ for a Jedi. The Council had frequently told him so. He suspected the entire Temple knew how angry and upset and lost he felt right at this moment.

None of it was helped by the alcohol still running around his system, although Anakin knew he was just hungover at the moment.

The only thing that would help, that ever helped when Anakin got like this, was Obi-Wan. But Anakin wasn’t sure he even wanted to see his Master. Former master. He was still so confused…

“He was just released from the infirmary,” Barriss continued, either unaware of Anakin’s imminent breakdown or too damn polite to mention it. If her master, Luminara Unduli, was here, the other Jedi would definitely have said something to Anakin. Luminara Unduli seemed to possess Obi-Wan’s dry wit, a certain humor and reserve, mixed with the keen observational skills that served her well as both a warrior and a Jedi Master…

Wait…

“Released from the infirmary? Why was he in the infirmary?” Anakin realized that he had leaned into Barriss’ personal space and was all but shaking the Padawan in his sudden alarm. He tried to take a step back, to give her some room, but found that he was physically incapable of doing anything expect willing her to explain as quickly as possible. The last he’d heard, Obi-Wan was perfectly healthy. He had been fine on Naboo, Force take him, when he’d tried to excuse his actions as “part of the plan” and “necessary for the greater good.” 

“Where is he?” he demanded, accidentally shaking Barriss. The Padawan’s eyes were wide with alarm. Anakin knew he looked wild, untethered. He had felt this way ever since Obi-Wan died on that rooftop, fell and hit the bottom, already gone and leaving Anakin behind. He had been cradled in Ahsoka’s arms, and Anakin remembered her tears. Ahsoka never cried, the Sith take the man!

“I…I think…think he’s on his way back to his quarters,” Barriss stuttered out, looking absolutely petrified. “He was alright. Master….Master Windu just wanted to…to make sure there were no complications!”

From the surgical procedure that had altered Obi-Wan’s appearance to mimic that of Rako Hardeen’s, Obi-Wan’s supposed killer. Anakin remembered fighting the man, his mind hazy and unclear by that point, blinded by rage. He hadn’t been able to sleep even a moment since Obi-Wan’s “death,” and all he could remember of the fight between him and “Hardeen” was kneeing him in the balls, and Obi-Wan’s arms around him, tight and restrictive.

_Anakin, don’t follow me._

How little Obi-Wan truly knew him.

Anakin was still clutching Barriss’ shoulders too tightly. Right, she would know because she volunteered in the infirmary. Anakin remembered Ahsoka telling him that once, long ago. He stepped back from the Padawan, breathing heavily, and then he took off running down the hallway, robes flying around him and almost skidding into a wall as he took a corner too fast. “Thanks, Barriss,” he shouted behind him, but he didn’t really care if she heard him or not.

All that mattered was Obi-Wan.

Anakin barreled into Obi-Wan’s quarters and then suddenly stopped short. The door hissed shut behind him and in the resulting silence, as Obi-Wan turned from the window to look at Anakin, the only sound was Anakin’s labored breathing.

He knew he looked a mess, hair and eyes wild, reeking of alcohol and smoke and dirt from Coruscant’s underworld, and his turbulent presence an utter maelstrom in the Force. Obi-Wan looked strange. The blue-black sky outside made his reflection in the glass distorted, and as he turned to face Anakin, all the younger man could think was that his master looked tired. Obi-Wan’s grey-blue eyes looked dull, his hair hung limply around his face and his shoulders drooped. Still, he somehow found a smile for Anakin. “Hello,” he said, quietly.

Anakin felt himself flush. “Hey,” he said, attempting nonchalance and trying to hold his breath in an effort to regulate his labored breathing. The only thing this resulted in was a short coughing fit.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and at the familiar gesture of disapproval and wry amusement, all of Anakin’s anger and sense of betrayal and bone-aching loss came back to him. He flushed again, this time in fury. “You!” he accused.

Obi-Wan’s eyebrow arched, if anything, even higher. “Me,” he agreed calmly.

“You’re here.”

“I am.”

Anakin felt like screaming, like taking Obi-Wan’s implacable calm, his acceptance of everything, even Anakin’s rage and grief, and shattering it into a million pieces, until the Jedi Master was just as much of a mess as Anakin himself.

The automatic lights came on, turning Obi-Wan’s plain, austere room into a facsimile of day. The warm, golden glow of the lights allowed Anakin to finally see Obi-Wan’s familiar features clearly. There was nothing of Rako Hardeen left in him. Anakin was surprised at the faint sense of relief this gave him. It was not like Obi-Wan had become another person, even if he had been wearing another face. He was glad all the same. Even if Obi-Wan still looked strange.

Something flickered in Obi-Wan’s changeable eyes. Anakin had never been skilled at reading the emotions that crossed his Master’s face. Padmé and Ahsoka were as easy to read for him as his mother had been, but Obi-Wan was still often a mystery.

Anakin had become an expert at listening to the tone in his master’s voice, but in moments like now, for instance, when Obi-Wan said nothing, Anakin had not the least idea what was going through his Master’s head.

Obi-Wan sighed, wearily, and crossed his arms over his chest. “How many more times must I apologize, Ankain?” he asked, and something in his tone reminded Anakin that he was still angry.

Obi-Wan would say that he was always angry, and this made him angrier still. He was _right_ to be angry.

He crossed his own arms and faced his Master squarely. “You faked your own death and let me suffer your loss for _weeks_ , all in the name of a _mission_ ,” he spat, and took pleasure in watching Obi-Wan flinch at his tone.

“Weren’t you to one who said that we had to do what was necessary to win this war?” Obi-Wan reminded him, throwing back Anakin’s own words into his face. His Master never fought fair, and he never admitted he was wrong. Even when he was!

“Don’t you dare use that against me,” Anakin snarled. “You had no right to do that to me. I’m – ” He hastily bit off the words that wanted to come next, almost biting his own tongue in an effort to keep them back.

Obi-Wan’s eyes darted towards his face, scanning it for something Anakin didn’t understand. “I know you’re upset, and I’m not expecting you to forgive me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, “but what I did foiled Dooku’s plan and save the Chancellor. _Your_ friend,” he emphasized, in case Anakin had forgotten Obi-Wan’s own feelings towards Palpatine.

Anakin snorted, unmoved. “So, what? You’re saying you did this for me? To save the Chancellor because he is my friend?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, dear one,” he said quietly, reprovingly. “I did it because it was the right thing to do.” At that familiar, beloved endearment, one Obi-Wan hadn’t used since Anakin was a small boy, Anakin felt his anger unwillingly drain out of him. He wanted to be angry, but he just couldn’t in the face of Obi-Wan’s gentle, disappointed tone.

Obi-Wan hesitated and Anakin once more tried to read the expression on his face. “But…your fondness for the man may have influenced my decision to undertake this mission. And…I am glad it succeeded, and the Chancellor’s life is spared, for your sake,” he admitted.

There was silence between them for several seconds then, the tension of the last moments dissipating slowly as Anakin heard Obi-Wan’s endearment over and over in his mind and as he tried to force the anger further and further away from him. Obi-Wan looked desperately tired, and Anakin felt…wrung out. Overstretched. It had taken everything he had to just hold himself together the past few weeks. He hadn’t even visited his wife since Obi-Wan’s funeral, for fear that he would lash out at her in his grief.

Only Ahsoka had stayed by his side, had weathered the storm.

And Obi-Wan had been there the whole time, even if Anakin hadn’t realized it at the time.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and Anakin could feel a lessening in the man’s Force presence, as he seemed to realize that the immediate danger had passed for the moment. It almost made Anakin want to get angry again, but he was too exhausted, to unstable, to manage it. He couldn’t help mirroring the small smile Obi-Wan sent towards him. “I am grateful to get back to my own skin, of course.” He stroked his chin. “However, I fear that the beard will take another couple of days to grow back.”

And now Anakin realized why Obi-Wan looked strange.

The distinguished, mature Jedi Master was gone, replaced by a man who looked younger than Anakin could remember him since Qui-Gon’s death. He looked young. He looked…good. Anakin had hated that beard when he was younger, thinking it hid Obi-Wan’s face and now…now it was gone again, and Anakin could remember why he’d hated it then.

Obi-Wan was beautiful. He was handsome, just as handsome as he was with that copper beard, but now in a way that let Anakin see the emotions running across his face, even if he was still unable to decipher any of them.

Before Anakin could tell himself not to, before his fuzzy mind caught up with him, he’d crossed the short distance that separated him from Obi-Wan, reached his hands up and cupped Obi-Wan’s face tenderly between his own palms.

The Jedi Master stilled beneath Anakin’s hands, his sea-green eyes widened, all tiredness vanishing from them as Anakin stroked the fingers of his flesh hand wonderingly against Obi-Wan’s smooth cheek. “Master,” he breathed, reverently. Obi-Wan looked almost the same as he had on Naboo, young and handsome, a light about him that Anakin had never seen in anyone else.

His fingers fluttered down to Obi-Wan’s throat, skimming over it as the Jedi Master swallowed roughly. “Anakin,” he began, his voice hoarse and he made to step back, but Anakin was allowing none of that. He stepped forward, mirroring Obi-Wan, and running his hands back up Obi-Wan’s cheeks to skim through his shorn hair. It was darker than normal, but Anakin knew it would grow out copper and gold once more.

“Master, please,” he said, hating that his voice sounded absolutely desperate but utterly past caring. His heart was pounding, his mind was dizzy with sudden want and need, mixed with panic that Obi-Wan would vanish from his life once more. He couldn’t – he _wouldn’t_ allow that.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Obi-Wan whispered, his rough voice, that beloved, elegant voice roughened by arousal, and is eyes, Obi-Wan’s changeable eyes darkening, pupils blown wide as Anakin pressed the heat of his palm against Obi-Wan’s smooth cheek, caused his throat to go dry, heat pooling low in his stomach.

_You’re mine,_ his heart cried. Words he would never be allowed to say out loud, for Obi-Wan belonged only to the Jedi and perhaps a little to Satine, the Duchess of Mandalore, and not at all to Anakin. Who was an utter mess, and filled with fear, and not at all the Jedi he should be, and Obi-Wan’s pupil to boot…...and also married. 

He froze, remembering his vows, remembering his mother explaining what marriage meant, remembering Palpatine telling him of the happy marriage of Padmé’s own parents – the Chancellor had been invited to the wedding, of course – and he tried to step back from Obi-Wan, he truly did. 

But then Obi-Wan tilted his head, pressing further into Anakin’s touch as though unable to help himself, and his eyes fluttered closed. “We shouldn’t.” A low rumble that vibrated through Anakin’s hand and down his spine. It wasn’t a refusal and Anakin could hear the resolve weakening in the Jedi Master.

He stepped closer to his master, so close that he could feel the heat coming off the other man and stroked his thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek. He watched the play of emotions over Obi-Wan’s newly revealed features, marveling once more at how young his master looked, at how he was letting Anakin touch him like this. Perhaps he had missed Anakin almost as much as his former apprentice had missed Obi-Wan.

Perhaps he had ached the entire time he had been in hiding as Rako Hardeen and he saw how Anakin had fallen to pieces without him.

Perhaps he had longed for just one more look, on more touch, as Anakin had…

“We should,” he said, trying to keep his voice low, hardly able to hear himself over the frantic pounding of his own heart. His metal hand, enclosed in its leather glove, skated down Obi-Wan’s spine, pulling him close, bodies flush together so that his master could feel exactly how much they should, could feel exactly how much Anakin _wanted_ him in this moment. “Obi-Wan, please,” and he knew that he said Obi-Wan’s name like the prayer that it was. He tried to stop himself from leaning in closer, lips barely a hairsbreadth apart from the older man’s but he couldn’t, any more than he could have helped himself from touching Obi-Wan when he saw him look so much more open than Anakin could remember, or any more than he could help himself from needing Obi-Wan more and more every day and week and year that passed. His master was a drug that Anakin knew he would never be able to quench the thirst for. 

“Master,” he breathed, warmth ghosting over Obi-Wan’s lips, and Anakin felt Obi-Wan shiver in his arms. His eyes, which had fallen closed, opened again and he pulled back to find Obi-Wan’s piercing gaze upon him, seeming to bore into every single part of him. Obi-Wan stared at him and Anakin knew his master would see how desperately Anakin needed him – not just wanted him – and he would know that there was more to this, much more, than just sexual attraction. There was attachment here. Anakin needed Obi-Wan, would always need him…and it wasn’t at all like the tame, almost-platonic love that Obi-Wan shared with Satine, where each could live their own lives even if they were attracted to each other.

No, Anakin needed Obi-Wan always, all the time. Needed him as close as it was possible for two people to be. Closer even.

And usually he kept it under control, forced himself to be satisfied with the teasing and casual touches and the smiles Obi-Wan gave him, which he shared with no one else. But today, after everything, after the lies, after Obi-Wan _died_ …

Suddenly afraid, he tried to pull back, tried to not let Obi-Wan see the true extent of Anakin’s feelings –

“Don’t stop,” Obi-Wan said, a clear command in his elegant, refined voice, so roughed by lust that it was almost unrecognizable. But Anakin would know it anywhere. With a breathy little moan that came up from his very toes, Anakin melted into Obi-Wan, grabbing the other man roughly by the shoulders and slamming him back into the transparisteel glass. Stars above and the lights of Coruscant’s endless city below, and Jedi all around them.

And he kissed him.

Obi-Wan laughed, a sudden, surprised burst of joy, and then he opened his mouth under Anakin’s, hot and perfect, and suddenly, where before there had been a cacophony of noise and confusion and overwhelming emotion there was only _Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan…_

“Just one night, Master,” Anakin panted, leaving a trail of hot, openmouthed kisses along Obi-Wan’s throat. The Jedi Master tugged on his unruly curls, bringing their mouths level again so Obi-Wan could swipe his tongue inside, tasting every inch of Anakin until the younger man went boneless in his arms and felt dizzy from feeling Obi-Wan all around him.

Obi-Wan kissed him deep and slow, teasing along his lips before finally pulling back and allowing Anakin to greedily suck in air. “Very well,” he agreed, seeming amused as Anakin tried to get his feet under him and completely refused to let go of Obi-Wan at the same time.

Anakin kissed him hungrily, not even noticing when Obi-Wan reversed their positions, Anakin spread out before him against the glass, Obi-Wan’s hands in his hair, scraping along his throat, skating hot and perfect along the muscles of Anakin’s stomach, dipping teasingly beneath the band of Anakin’s trousers, cupping Anakin’s aching erection through his clothing. 

Anakin moaned, head falling back against the window with a loud “thunk” and pleasure rolling through him in waves as Obi-Wan stroke him roughly, his own hardness pressing against Anakin’s hip, and Obi-Wan’s teeth leaving little marks along Anakin’s throat.

Oh Force – “Just-just there, Master,” he gasped, as Obi-Wan gripped him again – _Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan…_

“That’s it, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured against Anakin’s skin. “That’s it, dear one. Just stay with me.” Anakin moans at the praise, hips jerking forwards into Obi-Wan’s tight grip.

“Don’t let go,” he pants, begs, prays, hopes with every fiber of his being.

“Never,” Obi-Wan breathes, promises.

_It’s just sex,_ Anakin tells himself, even as he helplessly arches himself against Obi-Wan again, even as he knows that it’s not true, that it has never been “just” anything between them.

And then Obi-Wan tugged on Anakin’s curls until Anakin leaned down towards him and kissed him again. Anakin could lose himself like this, Obi-Wan kissing him so deeply, until he reached every broken, messy part of him and then made him new again.

_Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan…_

They stumbled towards the room’s single sleeping mat together, Anakin’s legs hitting it hard enough that Obi-Wan just nudged him and then the two of them were falling over onto it, Obi-Wan cushioning Anakin’s head and Anakin enjoying himself immensely now that he had a flustered Jedi Master in his lap, firm thighs on either side of Anakin and their groins pressed together. 

He bit off a strangled curse as Obi-Wan shifted position slightly and their hard cocks pressed together, separated by layers of unnecessary fabric. By the dim light of stars and the reflection from the headlights of speeders in distant traffic lanes, he saw Obi-Wan’s intent look, a small smile playing around his lips, and then his master rolled his hips forward deliberately, causing Anakin to see stars. 

Obi-Wan bends down, lips on his once more, and consumes him again, pulling off clothing, whispering endearments into Anakin’s ear and carefully stroking Anakin. It’s only when Anakin is hard and aching, desperate to come and unable to think of anything else at all save for Obi-Wan’s touch and Obi-Wan’s presence all around him, that the Jedi Master pulled back again.

There were finger-shaped bruises all along Obi-Wan’s neck and shoulders from Anakin’s touch and Anakin knew Obi-Wan had left bite marks along his own throat, and anywhere else he could reach, and even one on his chin still tingling from the insistent press of Obi-Wan’s lips there.

Anakin wants to wrap his legs around Obi-Wan’s waist, wants Obi-Wan deep inside him, wants Obi-Wan thrusting into him until everything else has fallen away and it’s only the two of them, only Kenobi and Skywalker, as it was when they fought on the battlefield together or sparred in the training arena. He wanted them to be a single entity, to be closer than lovers, close enough that he could feel Obi-Wan in his very being.

Only then would it be enough.

They were both bare now, pressed together everywhere Anakin could manage, sweat and sex filing the air around them. Obi-Wan’s hand stroked Anakin in slow and even strokes that were driving him utterly mad, and he interspersed this with his tongue circling one of Anakin’s erect nipples, or sucking behind Anakin’s ear, or kissing Anakin deeply, tongues twining together as they tried to taste every part of each other until they both had to break away or risk losing consciousness.

Sometimes, when Obi-Wan leaned forward to kiss him, their bare cocks rubbed together deliciously, pre-cum making them slide together. And it was almost enough to make Anakin come from that alone, the knowledge that Obi-Wan was here with him at last.

But oh, Anakin wanted more. 

“Please, Master,” he begged. _Take me now,_ he didn’t say. He wanted it fast and hard and furious. He wanted to be driven to the edge and fall apart and know that Obi-Wan would hold him through all of it.

Obi-Wan paused, pulled back a bit to stare at him with his too-bright eyes. He had been doing something with his right hand while the left had been pleasuring Anakin. There was oil in a small bottle, which he floated over towards the table beside the sleeping mat. Anakin wondered where his master had obtained such a thing. How long had he had it? Had he pleasured other lovers here before? Senator Organa perhaps? Was Palpatine right about Obi-Wan visiting the Alderaanian senator late at night?

For a moment anger welled up in him, uncontrollable jealousy, which he tried to hide back behind his shields before Obi-Wan noticed it. Obi-Wan watched him for a moment longer, and then he reached out and took Anakin’s flesh hand in his own, pulling it with him and brushing it over Obi-Wan’s tight, the sharp bones of his him, before sliding it around to skim along the length of the Jedi Master’s spine, down, down over the smooth curve of his ass, until he brushed one finger over Obi-Wan’s entrance…

The fingers of Obi-Wan’s other hand skimmed lightly over Anakin’s cock and he rocked his hips against Anakin’s insistently. “Anakin?” he asked, a question, a request, a command, a plea. And his voice trembled.

Anakin ran his hand down Obi-Wan’s back again, skimming over his entrance, feeling how wet and ready the Jedi Master was for him and knowing what the oil had been for – Obi-Wan had been working himself open for Anakin – and he wanted to claim Obi-Wan has his own, his alone, immediately, wanted to push deep inside him and feel Obi-Wan surround him, wanted to see Obi-Wan’s face as the Jedi Master fell apart in his arms…

Obi-Wan moaned tightly, trembling even further, and Anakin realized that whatever shields he’d had at the beginning of this night were now gone. He swallowed thickly, feeling his pulsing thundering in his ears, feeling almost dizzy with the knowledge that they were here, in this moment, that Obi-Wan was _trusting_ him to make this feel good for him.

In one smooth movement, Obi-Wan gripped Anakin’s thick cock and lowered himself slowly down upon it, inch by excruciating inch. Anakin tried to hold himself still, tried not to come from the tight heat of Obi-Wan’s body clenching around him, the breathy moans of his master as he seated himself fully upon Anakin. His hands clenched tightly on Anakin’s shoulders as the Jedi Knight sat up so that Obi-Wan was cradled in his lap.

The Jedi Master moaned tightly as Anakin moved, his head falling back and causing Anakin to nuzzle his face there, planting tender kisses as he stroked soothingly along Obi-Wan’s spine.

It was all too much. He wasn’t going to last. He moved slowly, deliberately, trying to ascertain exactly how to please his master.

“Anakin--!” That beloved voice, rough with lust, was his undoing. Anakin thrust upwards and Obi-Wan ground his hips down at the same moment. They rocked together, their rhythm instantaneous, as it was on the battlefield, as it was while sparring.

Anakin watched that beloved face – so open, so young, so visible to Anakin for the first time, without that regal beard – although Force, he loved the beard too, the way it caught the sun, the way Obi-Wan stroked it, the wave it felt when Anakin got close enough to brush his cheek along it – and saw the very moment Obi-Wan was lost to pleasure, to Anakin’s movements deep inside his body.

_I love you,_ he thought, a truth more elemental than any he had known in his life.

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened and he met Anakin’s, their gazes locked in one, perfect moment. And then pleasure took Anakin, and he knew nothing else.

 

0o0o0

 

In the morning, Anakin found Obi-Wan in his small kitchen area. The man handed him a cup of tea but wouldn’t meet Anakin’s eyes. The Jedi Knight, who had circled the small table to kiss Obi-Wan, froze and slowly put the steaming tea down.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but he already knew.

Obi-Wan didn’t even give him the decency of the truth, which was that he was scared. Scared of how deeply Anakin felt for him. The Jedi Knight knew he had revealed too much, that instead of releasing the feelings he’d had for Obi-Wan, instead of satiating that ever-present want, he had now made it impossible to ever forget the one night they’d had together.

Because of course Obi-Wan would never want another one, not now that he knew the messy, inconvenient truth of Anakin’s feelings for him.

_War, duty, honor._ Obi-Wan spoke, but Anakin didn’t really hear him. Regret choked him, made him want to flee from this room, from the night they’d spent together, and never look back.

“I’m sorry, Anakin, I truly am.” Obi-Wan sounded like he meant it, but he also sounded inexorable, and Anakin hated it. The Jedi Master continued speaking, watching Anakin’s face closely but seeming to utterly ignore his former Padawan’s anger, his hurt, that deep sense of betrayal that seemed to grow ever larger the longer this interminable war dragged on. “But I don’t think this is a good idea. We are too close as it is, and this would only complicate matters. The balance of the Force has been shaken. This war has gone on for too long, and it is highlighting all of our worst parts. The Republic itself feels unstable. Can you not see that?

Anakin wouldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. He focused on the ground, feeling his hands curl into tight fists as he attempted to keep his feelings under control. So, Obi-Wan had made his choice. He had made it long before this moment and nothing Anakin did or said would change his mind. He would keep Satine because her love was convenient to him, but Anakin’s overwhelming emotions, his passion, the very feelings that made Anakin so sure Obi-Wan was his and his alone, were inconvenient to him. He had made a choice and Anakin had no say in the matter. Like always.

“Of course, Master. It was a mistake – “

Obi-Wan raised his hands and shook his head. “No, Anakin,” he began, “I didn’t say – “

“I won’t bring it up again,” Anakin interrupted.

“I just meant that we should be cautious. This is a dangerous time for Jedi and we’re already committed – “

Committed. To Padmé. To the Jedi. To the Republic. To the Chancellor. To Obi-Wan. All pulling him in opposing directions. “Of course, Master. My apologies. It won’t happen again, don’t worry. Besides….” he stammered, feeling Obi-Wan’s rising alarm and hastily throwing up his shields. What must he be projecting? Too much. It was always too much. “…I just remembered I promised to train with Ahsoka this morning. I’ll see you later….” He dithered. “Good day,” he choked out at last, feeling Obi-Wan’s sorrow, seeing the Jedi Master reach out a hand towards him and seeing only pity there. He shook his head quickly. “No,” he whispered. “No.”

And Anakin Skywalker, Republic General and the Hero With No Fear, fled. Obi-Wan called after him, but he did not hear.

0o0o0

**Author's Note:**

> So, for those of you who read ‘The Far Dark Shore’ before coming here, Vader’s memory of what happened on this night are quite different from how he sees it here. No surprise. Although, considering this is Anakin Skywalker, an utter mess when it comes to relationships, he still managed to interpret Obi-Wan’s words and the meaning behind them incorrectly. Sigh. 
> 
> Well, just a little stand-alone piece, or a quick detour from the primary narrative. I might flesh this out a bit more in the future, if the mood takes me. Now, back to ‘The Far Dark Shore’.


End file.
